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All I've ever done is wonder what the hell I'm doing.


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+ 189 - 240 | § Why I love Columbia House, but don't.

ColumbiaHouse reigns you in with this whole "5 dvds for 50 cents" thing, and you're like, "OMG, yay! I'll just score those 5 and never order another thing from them!"

Strategy through Apathy. I dig.

Here's where it gets insidious. They use apathy against you. You actually have to cancel having a "Director's Selection" mailed to you every month, and they're usually utterly crap movies for like $22. My crap pile of DVD's has been growing because I got dangerously lazy about this whole thing. It's a retail with a twist- they make money off of you forgetting they exist.

They're also the worst kind of business model- one that keeps customers not through any sort of actual loyalty, but through a convoluted cancellation process to weed out the people who aren't truly committed to freeing themselves from the wretched beast.

As an example- I just called to cancel.

To continue in english, press 1. Para continuar en espanol, (press) dos.

Hit 1 (I assume)

Phone menu 1: 1-4, stuff that doesn't matter. 5, more options.

Hit 5.

1-4, Bunch of options that people would use the website for instead of the phone. To cancel your account, hit 5.

Hit 5.

Then, enter in your 11 digit membership number, which can only be found in tiny print after you've logged into their buggy-as-shit-website, OR in the statement that came with the last DVD you didn't want in the first place.


Ec-fucking-SCUSE-me? OTHERWISE? Are they asking if I want to let someone cut in line? Has our society become that utopian? Or are they asking if, navigating the menus, I've discovered deep within me a change of heart, a love for this dystopian capitalism that burns like the flame of a thousand suns, like the very pit of hell that will one day consume and burn the flesh of the founder of this deplorable corporation for all eternity?

I say that all rage like, but so confounded was I, so utterly curious as to the meaning, the extent, the mysteries of that "Otherwise", that I hit 2.

"Thank you for calling. Goodbye."



+ 219 - 205 | § They're not as cuddly as you thought.

This morning Andrew sent me a link to an image.  This One

That's what we do in the morning. We send eachother funny, interesting links. Funny, right?

If you want to know what was going through my head when I saw it, read about this dream I had a couple years ago

Pause for a moment to reflect on how strange I am for being the kind of person who could even have that dream. It's okay, I know you want to, god knows I would.

Now go back and look at that first link again.

How's THAT for context?


+ 219 - 220 | § Rock, paper, ohfuggitHULK SMASH!

Today is the second official rock-paper-scissors tournament.  We've been discussing tournament styles and methodologies, and it sort of... sprang into existence.

Sometimes I remember what it was like to hang out with Billy and Dave, just the three of us, and it kind of sucks that... well, it just kind of sucks.

That I can't, I mean.

It's weird to think how people, important people, can have the subtlest, most barely noticeable influence on you at some point in your life, and years later, it manages to surface without you even realizing it.

All this is to say, there's a playlist I listen to constantly, hours a day, 5 days a week, because it keeps me where I am when I need it to.  And when I need it to, it takes me somewhere else.

The first two tracks on this mix, the first two things I hear when I get here in the morning, the first two things I hear when I get back from lunch, and often the last two things I hear before I leave for the day, were first played for me by Billy and Dave.

Track 1.  "At least we're dreaming."  by Eve 6.  From Billy.

Track 2.  "In The Orchard."  By the venerable Tiger Army.  From Dave.

It's not that each one makes me think of the respective friend.  It's that each one makes me think of them both.  Playgrounds, porches, houses, trailers, soda, beer, cheeseballs and pizza rolls, sunrises, cigarettes, small children yelling Trogdor at the top of their lungs, being lost in the middle of nowhere.

Being found in the middle of nowhere.